the boy in the womb room
by twentyfourth and vine
Summary: bella, emily and claire are happy in their shared house with the spare room they've turned into a girls' sanctuary, but when there's a change in finances they need a new housemate. at first there's a "no boys" rule, but the only applicant is male. he's also entirely unsuitable. unfortunately, they're desperate. enter edward cullen, annoying since the day he knocked on the door.
1. Chapter 1

/ - 1 - /

the front door slams, rocking our old house on its foundations and rattling the windows. emily and i jerk our heads up from the books we're reading to eye one another over the kitchen table.

'shit, fuck, motherfuck!' claire's voice yells from the hall, getting closer. 'that a-hole i work for has decided not to open sundays any more so i'm losing a shift!'

she arrives in the doorway, scowling.

'that's great,' i say, 'isn't it? you hate working sundays.'

'yeah, but getting an entire day's wages plus tips deducted from my paypacket is going to slay me. i'll have to give up crack cocaine and male escorts.'

that's how claire talks. i'm used to it. she's not a lot worse than i am.

'wanking's still free,' i point out.

'not the way i like it, fairyfingers. but, you know, the knock-on effect of me having less money to throw around is that i won't be able to afford the fucking _rent_.'

well. claire's employment woes suddenly become emily's and my problem as well.

claire and emily are cousins and i met them when we were all looking for somewhere to live. i'd seen an ad that was promising - victorian terrace, four bedrooms, versatile layout, loads of character. the rent seemed low and when i saw the place i realized why. it was dark and dank and tasteless, with a sitting room too small to sit in and a rental agreement explicitly stating that no refurbishing or alteration could be undertaken. i'd hoped it would be liveable and i could sign a contract and find three other people to share with but everyone who went through emerged gagging from a combination of the smell and the decor.

i'd been house-hunting for weeks by then and was verging on desperate. still optimistic for a miracle, i noticed two girls lagging behind the other viewers and in no apparent hurry to leave.

'what do you reckon?' one said to me.

'it's a dump. unfortunately.'

'it could be fixed up.'

'how? you're not allowed to change anything.'

'we could give this place a facelift in a way that would let us get it back to its original state within a couple of hours if we ever had to. you interested in sharing with us?'

'a bomb would do it more good than cosmetic surgery.'

'oh, it'll get bombed. the emily bomb. this is emily and i'm claire and you know what? the rent's so low we could just have the three of us in the upstairs rooms and we'd keep the front room downstairs as a hanging out space.'

the emily bomb hadn't spoken yet and looked kind of mad but i had nothing other than the prospect of homelessness to lose. we signed the lease and looking back, i've never been gladder of a decision in my life.

emily's madness proved to be spooky and delightful. claire calls a spade a fucking motherfucking spade and she'll dig a hole if that's what's needed, wiping her hands on your clothes, laughing unkindly at your woes then walking on hot coals to help you address them.

when we collected the keys emily turned up with bolts of fabric and rolls of double-sided tape. tall claire climbed the stepladder, securing lengths of pale blue canvas at the top of the gloomy fake wood paneling and feeding it down for emily and me to stick tight to the walls. we progressed through the whole house, transforming the darkness into morning sky. the brown kitchen cabinets got covered in cream adhesive plastic and we spent the rest of the day on the floor with canvas, red and gold paint, and stencils, creating faux vintage wallpaper for the front room. by the next day we'd yanked up all the carpets, rolled them in plastic sheets, and stored them in the crawlspace beneath the house. that had nearly killed us but we toasted ourselves with champagne and then got on our knees and scrubbed the floorboards, swapping life stories.

when we finished, the house was light and airy and inviting and gorgeous - and ours, and we were newly realised but firm best friends.

we've been happy in our beloved home for two years and can't even entertain the thought of any one of us leaving. the solution, if unappealing, is clear. in order to stay we'll have to get a fourth person, renting them our treasured ruby room until claire can find a way to increase her income.

of course our new roomie will have to be a girl. duh.

but after a couple of weeks no suitable candidate presents herself despite signs in cafes, music shops and on the noticeboard at college. there aren't even any _un_suitable applicants. claire's language deteriorates impressively.

we redistribute the rent, but it's only a temporary measure since emily and i don't earn enough to cover the extra cost indefinitely.

then one person responds, a guy. at this stage we can't afford to be fussy.

i'm on my own the afternoon he comes by. he's dressed entirely in black, which i eye with mistrust. edward cullen. music student. piano, he tells me.

'music! how - hmm,' i say.

his eyes narrow and he gives me a once-over while i refrain from kicking him in the teeth, although that's my first impulse. this is not a club or a bar or a party, bozo, so don't do that speculating evaluating thing, like you're working out if i'm doable. this is a _house_ where we have to _live_. i hope to god someone female materializes very soon with an intention to take the room, but in the interim i have to show edward the invader our lovely home and our warm, inviting, decadent, beautiful, private den.

he looks around.

'it's very red. i feel like i'm in utero.'

i'll see your simile and raise you a metaphor.

'oh yeah, because pussies are all lined with gold roses.'

he's startled. i don't care.

'it says in the rental agreement tenants aren't allowed to change the decor, so if you don't like it that's just too bad.'

'i didn't say i don't like it. i like it a lot, actually. when can i move in?'

fuck, calm down. there are rules you have to agree to first.

'just so you know - you can't bring your piano. my bedroom is directly upstairs - you'd disturb me.'

'well - i certainly won't be able to fit the grand in here, but an upright should be fine.'

'did you hear me? no piano.'

'i only practise two or three hours a day.'

'sorry, i've just remembered we've found a tenant.'

'really? when I spoke to emily earlier she said i'd been the only person to answer the ad.'

'yeah well, that was before half a dozen other people enquired about it and we've settled on someone who's _ideal_. thanks sorry.'

'i use an electronic keyboard with headphones if that makes any difference.'

'oh. well, that might make a little bit of difference.'

'i thought you just said you'd found someone?'

'we can keep you in mind as a reserve.'

'excellent. i'm definitely keen. and by the way, i have a pet rat. will that be okay with everyone?'

i glare at him. 'no pets. condition of the lease.'

'well strictly speaking, she's not a pet. she's an income. i breed from her and sell the offspring to science labs.'

my mouth drops open.

he smirks. 'just kidding.'

'about the science labs?'

'about the rat. i don't have one.'

'_any_ rodents?'

'none.'

'just a humor bypass then.'

i disliked him on sight and even more once i'd spoken to him but we don't really have a choice. us girls don't want to lose our home and we don't want to lose each other.

so edward ratfree cullen moves in and my peace of mind takes a fucking hike.


	2. Chapter 2

i'll try and update weekly. i'm just putting up two for starters to get the ball rolling.

characters belong to stephenie meyer

/ - 2 - /

during the weeks following his arrival edward can't do anything that doesn't irritate the shit out of me. i hate that he's defiled our sanctuary of girlness and that his presence has changed everything around the house. my favorite room is now off-limits, thanks to his turning up.

bickering and squabbles ensue because i'm always on his case, because he's a dick. he thinks he can answer me back as if he's an actual person, which pisses me big time so i'm on his case more.

'do you ever relax?' he says.

'sure i do, ratfree. the question is, do you?'

'i'm completely relaxed, i'm a chill kind of guy.'

'interesting word choice. from where i sit you just look inert.'

'jesus. i'm cooking a couple nights a week, i know how to operate the dishwasher - by the way, are you aware that when you use cutlery and utensils they need to be cleaned afterwards? and then put away?'

'jeez - who decreed that? it sounds complicated to me but i'm glad you've got your head around it.'

'funny. and something else it might interest you to know - laundry can generally be brought in from the washing line after a day or two - it doesn't really need to be out there for a week. did you ever come across the concept of separating darks from lights? I notice you're putting white underwear in the same load as black jeans. your bras are grimy.'

'_grimy?_ if i ever catch you looking at any of my underwear i'll strangle you with it.'

'some people pay good money for that sort of thing.'

'don't you fucking go there.'

emily just watches and claire says, 'jesus bells, you really hassle him. he's not that bad.'

'get a new job already and earn some more money so we can kick him out,' i growl.

along with the general disagreeableness, there's the fucking music. one night i can't sleep because i can hear him playing.

i storm downstairs.

'can you quit making that racket? it's two in the morning.'

'bella - the volume's right down. see? look at the dial - zero.'

'i can still hear it. i have wooden floorboards. the sounds come through.'

'what are you, a bat?'

'no - they use echolocation.'

he glowers, i glower. the other two aren't affected because their rooms are at the back of the house. they're probably deep in dreamland - where i want to be.

'so stop your fucking hammering and then i can get some sleep.'

'i'm not hammering. these keys are plastic - if anyone hammered on them, they'd break.'

'well stop playing with such loud delicacy and finesse. no-one wants to listen to your emo shit.'

'emo shit? that proves you can't hear a thing.'

'can't you practice tomorrow?'

'yes i can, i practice every day, remember? if i don't do two hours today it's four tomorrow.'

'well don't make me suffer for your poor time management. maybe you could party less.'

he smokes weed now and again, like a dick. it makes him goofy and laughy, like a dick.

'maybe you could party more and not be so strung out,' he suggests, like a dick.

'i'm not strung out.'

'actually, you are. one of these days i'll get you stoned and show you how to not take yourself so seriously.'

'oh really? well i'm not a loser _like some people _and i don't do drugs.'

'in that case i know of something else that would be perfect.'

'such as?'

'you let me get my hand down your pants.'

_what_

_the_

_fuck?_

'did you really just say that?' i'm incredulous, mentally grasping for that phrase english people use. gobsmacked. _he's_ going to be gobsmacked in seconds flat.

my hand rises to slap his face but he manages to deflect the blow and it glances off his wrist, hurting me. from his grimace i guess it's hurt him too.

without another word i stalk back to my room and lie tense and seething, although aware that the stupid annoying fucking tapping hasn't started back up.

he avoids me for the next few days which is wise of him.

then on saturday people visit and things go late and i chuck back maybe a beer or two, maybe a mixed drink.

'grin and tonic,' i say, waving my glass at claire.

'what are you celebrating?'

'edward being absent.'

'don't speak too soon.'

'did i hear my name?' his voice drawls and he's there, leather jacket, black shirt, smirk. 'peace offering, bella.'

a bottle of champagne, brandished at me.

'look, we got off on the wrong foot, okay? that's all. there doesn't need to be hostility between us. let's start again. hi, i'm edward. i'm looking for somewhere to live and i heard you had a room going. i'm tidy, i'll pay rent on time and i cook a mean curry.'

'you look like a dick.'

'jesus, bella, i'm trying here. could you do the same?'

'sure. my name's bella and i'm strung out and i will _kill_ if there's noise downstairs when i'm trying to sleep.'

'about that - i brought you something.'

he hands over a little packet containing foam earplugs.

wanker.

'and something else. it's outside.'

we go out and leaning against the railing is a rolled up carpet.

'it's your favorite color.'

'you don't know my favorite color.'

'it goes with your coverlet.'

'how have you seen my coverlet? you've been in my bedroom?'

'don't erupt, etna - you know i have. i carried stuff up for you one time, remember? now, i'm attempting a solution here. being constructive. i'll take this up for you and we'll see if it makes a difference.'

i'm skeptical but grudgingly impressed as well. he's making an effort. he hefts the rug upstairs, having a lot of trouble getting it round the landing, but makes it to my room and unrolls it. then he has to lift the legs of my bed and desk and the front edge of my dresser. there's some grunting. the jacket comes off. shit. he's got a sheen of perspiration over his face by the time he's finished. the shine of it is on his throat, too. i suppose he's good looking, i think for the first time as he's breathing heavily, pushing hair out of his eyes, shutting the door. he sinks onto my bed, long-legged and easy, drinking from the bottle.

'there. the sound of the stereo's muted pretty effectively. you should be fine in here from now on. you can thank me if you like.'

'i'll thank you after i've slept well for a week.'

'sure. come and sit down. share this with me.'

i have a sip, more than that, a gulp, but i'm standing, keeping my distance.

'do you like it?' he asks.

'the wine or the carpet?'

'both.'

'the wine's all right. the carpet's all right.'

the wine's good actually and the carpet looks better than i'm prepared to admit.

'go easy on the hyperbole. what does it take to get a smile out of you?'

i swallow another mouthful and don't look at him.

'you're still really strung out. my offer from last week remains on the table, you know.'

'what - you getting me stoned?' i ask scornfully.

'if you like, but i was thinking more of the other one.'

oh you're smug, not to mention appalling. do you think you're a lovegod? do you expect me to fall at your feet edward? are you going to play me like your fucking piano? well there's something you don't know. i have never had an orgasm from a man's hand, ever. i don't know why but it just doesn't happen. i don't get turned on at all and i put up with the attentions for a few minutes to be polite and then i distract them and move to the next step. you haven't got a hope.

'okay then, have at it.'

his eyes widen in shock.

'what?'

'you heard me.'

'i can touch you? are you _serious_?'

'yeah. aren't you?'

'oh yeah, _i_ am. come here.'

he's recovered quickly, now cocky as fuck, taking me by the hips.

'how long do you think we should allow for this?' i say. 'we are hosting a party here. we have guests.'

'just as well i've soundproofed your room.'

'because you're gonna have me screaming your name?'

'you won't be screaming anything coherent. let's say half an hour, so there's no rush, and maybe time for seconds. does the door lock?'

i lock the door and turn off the overhead light, leaving my bedside lamp on. he pushes my t-shirt up and goes to kiss my belly.

'just the hand,' I say and he looks up at me and winks.

'sure thing. you should probably lie down. before you fall down.'

after five minutes of his hand under my skirt he's had no effect on me.

'are you okay?' he says.

'yes.'

another ten minutes and still no change.

'am i doing something you don't like?'

'no. does this usually work for you?'

'well, yeah.'

'then it's a proven method. no need to doubt your abilities. you've still got plenty of time.'

but then it's been half an hour.

'uh - bella, you don't seem to be very into this. could you give me some guidance?'

'fraid not. time's up.'

'but - um. it doesn't seem like anything's happened for you at all. is that - ah - usual?'

'yes. didn't i mention that?'

'no, you didn't. i want to keep going but you've got to tell me if i'm getting anywhere.'

suddenly i feel mean, because he is really trying.

'okay. you're not getting anywhere. you won't. i'm sorry - this was a shitty thing to do to you.'

he sits up and stares at me, all smugness gone. 'what do you mean?'

'it won't work. it never does. i set you up. i shouldn't have done that.'

'can i use my tongue?'

'no. that won't work either.'

he stares and i can't read his expression.

'you've thrown me for a loop here, bella. i don't know what to say. did i just get it completely wrong?'

'no.'

'are you anhedonic?'

'what does that mean?'

'unable to experience pleasure - it's a neurobiological condition.'

'um - i don't have that.' my voice is getting smaller and smaller with the increasing softness of his.

'was i too rough? couldn't find the right rhythm? god. can you tell me what to do?'

he's earnest and sincere and wants to understand. this isn't about his ego. he wants to get me off, for _me_. i don't know what the fuck i thought i was playing at.

'there's no point. nothing you can try will work. we should go back downstairs. people will notice we've gone. it's rude.'

'nobody will notice or care and i want to talk to you.'

'edward, i don't want to talk. you have no fucking idea how much i regret what i just did to you. please forget the whole thing. completely.'

'that's going to be easier said than done.'

fuck it. i'm ashamed of myself. not of what my body can and can't do - i'm ashamed of my behavior when it seems that well-hidden beneath the sniping, criticising and sarcastic exterior of edward cullen is a genuine, caring person.

'is there any champagne left? give me the bottle,' i say.

if i can't be decent i might as well be smashed.


	3. Chapter 3

/ - 3 - /

edward is so fucking nice to me nowadays that i want to vomit on him. two weeks have gone past and he hasn't made a single even slightly rude comment.

i can't bear thinking that it's due to him being sorry for me because he thinks i have a malfunction. i don't, as it happens - just an idiosyncrasy. i don't know why i even told him what i told him. it's not something i've admitted to the girls despite claire and i having talked about sex in toe-curling detail. i know she likes her men big and dark with no chest hair but with a happy trail, and her favorite position is doggy-style. me? i like tall, skinny guys and i like face-to-face, and i don't care who's on top. emily - she doesn't really show much interest in anyone and for all i know she's turned on by butterflies and snowflakes. none of us have a boyfriend. i've had some short-lived affairs but i lack staying power with guys. my wishlist only has four things on it - that they're able to hold a conversation, they can laugh, they're fair-minded, and they're not repulsive, but that's too many requirements, apparently. and now circumstances beyond my control have led to my having to share way more time and space than i'd choose with a human being of the male variety who really tries my patience.

'you're shitting me,' i tell edward when he tries to take the vacuum cleaner from me one day.

'why?'

'since the other night you're treating me differently.'

'no, i'm not.'

'you're acting like i'm an invalid or disabled.'

'because i'm trying to do the vacuuming?'

'i'm capable of managing one or two things, you know.'

'i never said you weren't.'

'fine. have it your way. oh gee - i just dropped a packet of cheerios. they've gone everywhere. sorry about that.'

i flounce away and leave him to it. i'm mad at myself because i just am. edward thinks i can't have orgasms and he's sorry for me and he's turned me into the guest of honor at a daily pity party in my own fucking house. i _can_ have orgasms as it happens. i can have plenty of orgasms, and they don't all have to be self-generated either. fuck him and his sympathy.

we're home one thursday, edward and i, enduring a rare bonding ordeal while claire and emily have gone to the store for life's main necessity, chocolate. once a week the household has movie night and tonight's my pick. i've chosen a french movie called tomboy which got good write-ups.

the girls can't get back soon enough, both because i want chocolate so hard my mouth's already watering and because ten minutes alone with ratfree is more than plenty.

he's browsing the film's reviews when he suddenly says, 'oh my god.'

'what?'

'i get it.'

good for him. i've no idea what he gets but he's staring at me.

'that night - you told me no guy's ever been able to make you come - ' he starts.

it's not exactly what i said and i'm about to correct him but he's still talking.

'shit, it all makes sense. i understand what you meant. okay, i'm clear on that now.'

'clear on what?'

'your sexuality. it's cool. i don't mean, like _it's_ cool - i mean _i'm_ cool with it. fuck, that's not what i mean. god, it's not like you need my permission. or my approval,' he rambles.

'what?' i'm still saying.

'you're not into guys. that's fine. i shouldn't have made any assumptions. but it's all good. right?'

ratfree's flustered. it's pretty funny. i could run with this for days.

'so you've worked out - i'm gay.'

'uh. yeah?'

'how could you tell?'

'well - um. based on - ah - you not, um, being, er - responsive - ah - '

yep, this has mileage.

the others come home, he and i sit at opposite ends of the couch, the movie is poignant, and emmy says, 'i can really relate to that girl.'

'she's nothing like you,' claire points out.

'i know,' em nods.

ratfree's got me thinking though. i'm sieving through my memory trying to remember the last time i enjoyed a close encounter with a guy other than the regrettable episode at the party, and i realise it's been weeks. enough weeks that it could more accurately be termed months. i've been occupied with study and work and life in general, and somehow that side of things has just slipped. none of us girls have done any boy-chasing lately - it's probably why we were all perfectly happy until edward came along.

so. i decide to try and find a guy to sex up. college should be full of them, you would think, although it occurs to me maybe it's best if i pick someone i'm not likely to be constantly running into afterwards, just in case i don't like him.

there's a venue a few blocks away that often has good bands on and it seems as good a hunting ground as any. i pop in there with claire one night and scope the place.

'hey, you remember that horrendous jane hayes who graduated with a master's in 'i hail from satan's bowels' from college the year we started? i think that's her twin brother whatsisname over there,' claire says, pointing with no subtlety whatsoever at a guy on the other side of the room. luckily for him he's not looking at us. he is a bit boring, so i don't bother with a second look.

when i drop in with em a couple of nights later, he's there again.

'do you know that guy?' i ask her.

'sure. he's nice. he fixed my bike once and carried my sewing machine.'

she goes and says hi and chats for a minute and whatsisname just got ten out of ten because emily's character judgement is never wrong.

the next time i go in i'm on my own. i get a drink and find a seat near whatsisname but not right on top of him. i keep looking around. then i tap at my cell and make a pretend, hushed call. then i bite my lip and look around some more like i'm trying to make a decision. then i take a deep breath and step towards him.

'hey - you're jane hayes's brother, aren't you? alec?'

'yeah,' he answers.

'how's she doing these days? i'm bella, by the way. i used to know her but we fell out of touch.'

'she's good,' he says.

'great. oh, and i live with emily young - i think she knows you. well, anyway, i was meeting a friend here to watch this band but she's just bailed and i really like them but i'm uncomfortable sitting by myself. is this seat taken? do you mind if i sit here?'

smooth.

'that's fine,' he says.

'thanks.'

he's got no idea i'm hitting on him because i'm so fucking low key. i don't even speak to him except for once when i lean over and say, 'these guys are great, aren't they?'

he nods. it's really too loud to get a conversation going.

we're there until the band finishes, and the next part of my plan is crucial. it won't work unless he's chivalrous, but from what em said, he is.

'well, i enjoyed that. guess i'll head out now. see you again some time,' i tell him, standing.

'how are you getting home?'

thank christ, that's what i needed him to say.

'walking. it's only a couple of blocks.'

'you shouldn't go on your own. i'll walk you home.'

result! possibly.

'thanks. i don't know why we haven't really talked before. i mean, i've noticed you,' i say.

'you have?'

a bit. sort of.

at our house i fidget with my keys and say, 'hey, thanks a lot for tonight. like, your company and for walking with me. would you like to come in?'

'ah - '

'we have cookies! oh, no we don't, we ate them all. sorry.'

he laughs a little and says, 'okay, sure. no cookies. could i use your bathroom?'

inside the front door, i tiptoe past edward's room, even though his light is off. i show alec where the downstairs bathroom is and i offer him leftovers from the pizza edward made earlier.

'this is good,' he says, swallowing before he speaks. nice manners, noted. 'well, now you're home safe and sound, i'll take off. thanks for the pizza.'

'do you want to come upstairs?' i blurt.

he looks around the room, then back at me.

'upstairs?'

'yeah.'

'what are you saying? just so i've got it right,' he says.

'i'm asking if you want to stay. with me.'

i don't exactly mean stay with. i mean sleep with. i mean, have sex with.

'stay? ah. wow. spontaneous. you're suggesting something casual, are you?' he asks. 'just for tonight?'

'yeah.'

'i don't have a condom.'

'i've got one.'

it seems to take him a while to decide, during which time i become nervous. there's the potential here for huge embarrassment. finally he steps closer, slipping a hand under my hair.

'let's try the taste test.'

his kiss is good. i mean, it's light and sweet, with no tongue. it's like a first date kiss. i feel as if i should respond shyly, and i do. when he pulls away, i'm blushing like a teenager.

'do i pass?'

he smiles. 'easily. do i?'

'oh, definitely.'

in my room he seems happy enough, and he's not in any rush. we make out standing up for ages before he slips a hand under my shirt.

'is this okay?'

'yes.'

i was getting a bit worried about his hesitancy, but he's not hesitant, just gentle. my shirt comes off and so does his and we move to the bed. his hands on my breasts feel nice. his mouth feels nice, too. he eases my jeans off slowly and his hand slips between my legs. i stop him by reaching for his belt and together we deal with his pants. we're both in underwear and i pull him down to me and wrap my thighs around his hips. they're the perfect width, which is an unexpected realisation - it's not something i've ever thought of before. i push up, into his erection, and he pushes forward and matters go from nice to _seriously?_ really quickly. i mean, i know sexual compatibility is a very real thing but i've never felt this good this fast. at times i haven't felt this good at all. he presses open-mouthed kisses to my throat as i run my hands over his back, feeling the muscles flex, and marveling that i got so lucky. we're writhing together, and i know it's good for him too because i can see the surprise and pleasure in his eyes. the need to get fully naked is becoming urgent when i register that the thumping sound i can hear isn't my own heartbeat.

it's coming from my door, which, about a second later, bursts open.


	4. Chapter 4

/ - 4 - /

ratfree's standing there, on the wrong fucking side of the door. the _inside_.

'what the fuck is going on?' he demands redundantly, because come on, it's obvious.

alec sits up, pulling the sheet over me, saying, 'who are you?'

'i live here,' edward states, 'downstairs. and you can fucking stop that and fuck off.'

well, this is awkward.

alec says to me, 'bella?'

'edward get out.'

'no.'

'_leave!_'

'no.'

what a farce.

'he's my housemate. he's a mental case. shit. i'm sorry,' i tell alec as edward stalks to the window and stands with his back to the bed.

'is he still here?' he says menacingly, without turning around.

'what do you want, bella?' alec asks.

i want edward to be taken away by security and locked up. fuck, he's a loose cannon. i have no idea what he might do.

alec leans down, mouth to my ear, and murmurs, 'bella, it's not up to him whether i go or not, it's up to you. what do you want?'

'he's an idiot but he's not harmful,' i murmur back. 'i'm really sorry about this, alec. i guess i need to speak to him about _boundaries_. can you and i talk in a day or two?'

'you're going to be okay here?'

i nod. i am. edward might be dead soon though.

alec pulls his clothes on and leaves with a sweet kiss to my cheek.

after he's heard the front door shut, edward approaches the bed.

'what the fuck was that about?' he growls.

i'd jump up and punch him but i'm practically naked. 'you're asking _me_?'

'are you crazy?'

'am _i_ crazy?'

'looks like it.'

'why are you in here?'

'i could hear you. this rug doesn't block sounds out quite as well as we'd thought, huh?'

'that doesn't explain why you think you can charge into my room any time you like.'

'i was looking after your best interests, believe it or not.'

'that would be a resounding _not_.'

'do you really think the way to deal with your - situation - is to experiment with screwing random guys…'

'what _situation_? and who says he's random?'

'your situation of being anorgasmic. and i've been living with you for weeks and i've never seen him before. he's random. it's dangerous to bring home men you don't even know. and anyway - i thought you were gay. does this mean you're bisexual?'

'my sexuality and whoever i bring home are none of your fucking business!'

'you were disturbing me.'

'you're already fucking disturbed.'

'bella, moaning in fake excitement the way you were then is just denial and being in denial isn't going to change anything.'

'jesus! is that your professional opinion, dr fucking specialist expert? for your information it wasn't fake.'

'it sounded like it to me. that anonymous guy could tell too and if he was acting like he couldn't he deserves being kicked to the curb. he's a jerk.'

'_he's_ a jerk? you can shut up and fuck off. this has nothing to do with you.'

he just looks at me.

'as i said, being in denial - '

'_get out!_ you are never, ever to come into my room again without an express invitation, which is never going to happen - do you understand?'

i call a house meeting the next morning - a girls' one that is - and tell them the sordid details, finishing with an adamant declaration that edward has to go.

'he could _tell?_' claire says, like that's the most important thing.

emily eyes me like i'm letting down all the women in the world.

'jesus. he fucking _couldn't_ tell fucking anything because i _wasn't _faking,' i insist, red-faced. alec had been delicious. damn ratfree for interrupting. 'i wouldn't fake! what's the point of that?'

'edward thought he was protecting you,' emily says.

'_he's_ the one i need protection from!'

'well, we can't afford to evict him unless we have someone else lined up,' claire says. 'and remember bella, you were the one who chose him.'

that is so fucking unfair.

on friday when i get home i head for the freezer, uncapping the absolut and guzzling some. the three of us girls all drink straight from the source and so far none of us has died or gotten mouth ulcers. i'm taking another swig and thanking edward's lucky stars that he's nowhere to be seen when claire appears in the kitchen doorway.

'you're cutting it fine,' she says.

'cutting what fine?'

'check the blackboard.'

'oh, shit. is that tonight? i forgot,' i say, glancing at the blackboard on the kitchen wall that we leave messages on. yes, there's a note in huge caps with stars drawn all around it saying friday rockabilly. a club we know is starting themed parties with tonight's being the first. we've been looking forward to it for weeks. we're going out in _style._

the absolut is absolutely needed in emily's room - in fact i'm surprised it isn't there yet.

i'm quick in the shower, dumping my work clothes in the laundry basket and wrapping myself in a towel to peep round her door at the chaos and explosions and aromatic girl heaven.

emily is studying costume design and her skills in the dress-making field are truly remarkable. she can give me and claire a measuring look in the afternoon and say 'hmm', and whip up perfectly fitting new outfits for us to wear out that night. one of her walls is completely taken up with floor to ceiling shelving and hanging rails and she has so much fabric and so many clothes it's like a component store for cloth kaleidoscopes.

'rockabella,' she says now, eyeing me, 'a towel is no good. please come back in underwear. seamless panties and any color bra.'

i skip away and do as she asks, returning to admire claire who is clutching her bicep with one hand and drinking from the vodka bottle with the other.

'applying a tattoo transfer while imbibing the spirit of the night,' she smirks, 'so multitasky.'

'okay, we're going to re-image your bra,' emily tells me, reaching behind my back to deftly undo the hooks.

at her sewing machine my bra gets attacked and then given back to me, tightened. she's replaced the white straps with red ones and has sewn black and white gingham onto the band across the back. then she pulls a polkadot dress from the vertical garden of her wall, easing it onto me inch by inch. it's so tight i can't even breathe.

'so don't,' she shrugs.

a couple of tattoos courtesy of claire, and some emily hairlove and i'm ready.

we're all in kitten heels and kitten eyeliner with victory roll hairdos. claire's in a swing dress because she dances and emily and i are in wiggle dresses because we don't. fuck it's fun. a quick glimpse behind me in the mirror shows the v-back of my dress is scandalously low, exposing my bra and revealing my shoulder blades sporting a pair of cowboy boots inside a heart-shaped lariat on one side and a guitar in flames on the other. claire's shoulder displays the word 'meow'.

we stumble out of our cab outside the club giggling and excited, to join the queue which is moving quickly. we're almost at the entrance when i notice someone walking up along the sidewalk, barely lit by streetlamps. a guy.

his hair's none too clean and combed back in a quiff that's misbehaving. he's bent over, slender fingers having an argument with the zipper of his leather jacket. a black t-shirt which appears to be torn at the neck is just visible under the jacket. a lit cigarette dangles loosely from two fingers.

i notice these things in a glance and i also notice his jeans look really old - they're faded and tight and ripped at the knees. his gaze is so concentrated on his hands i look at them again and realise they're right over his crotch, and motherfuck, the material has been worn almost to death and has been through the wash a thousand times. it's practically melted to his shape. those jeans aren't entirely decent. i look back up at his dirty, unkempt hair just as he raises his head.

motherfuck times ten. it's ratfree. my jaw drops.

next to me claire cheerfully says, 'hey boyjack' to him while extending a finger to my chin, pushing gently to shut my mouth.

'what's a fucking boyjack?' i ask.

'edward is.'

i don't know what it means and i realise i'm gaping at him like a dick as he brings the cigarette to his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he inhales, eyes fixed on me. he hasn't spoken. i thought he was out of town visiting his parents which he does quite often on weekends - but no, he's not. who cares? so he looks good when he looks bad. count all the fucks i give! that is, none.

my posse's at the front of the line now and i sashay through the door, glancing back to check that the girls are following. they are, and emily has her arm linked through edward's, fucking queue-jumper. he's still staring at me.

since we're already loaded up on absolut i don't want anything to drink so i gravitate to the mezzanine around the dance floor. dancing is not on my list of talents but i love watching it. what i haven't allowed for is boyjack to come and hover way too close. he's probably making sure no-one attempts to fornicate me.

'you look good,' he says. 'i mean, great. all three of you do.'

i nod. i'd move away but it's quite crowded and i'm hemmed in. as i'm looking for an escape route he says, 'do you want to come outside? get some air?'

yeah, i do, and outside i won't have to stand so near him.

there's a huge balcony with very few people on it. we drift to the railing and he pulls a cigarette case out of his pocket. when he sparks one the telltale aroma lets me know that it's a joint.

'ooh - wickedness. color me impressed.'

'i bet. want some?'

'i wouldn't put one of those nasty things near my mouth.'

'okay, you don't have to - let's shotgun.'

i don't answer, but then i shrug internally, thinking what the hell? why not? i haven't had weed for ages.

'ready?' he asks. 'have you done this before?'

'what do you think i am? squeaky clean?'

he smirks. 'no. badass and bad-tempered.'

when i open my mouth to argue he's already there, tipping down to me, exhaling between my lips. shit he's close. i breathe him in because i have to, to get the hit.

'okay?' he murmurs.

'i will be in a minute. give me some more.'

this time he closes his eyes. our lips bump lightly and we both withdraw. i inhale and hold.

after the third time he turns his head to look out over the cityscape spread before us and remarks, 'i think you're enjoying this, ms purity.'

'enjoying what?'

'your little walk on the wild side.'

'oh, i've visited the wild side plenty, edward. the pavement there has a star with my name on it.'

'i wouldn't be surprised. i didn't know you had ink.'

'huh?'

'your back, rock chick. or have you forgotten how tough you are?'

he grins. i grin. we're stoned now.

'my body art? oh, getting those babies hurt like a mother.'

such a stupid thing to say we're both laughing. we return inside and from there on in things get sillier. there's jitterbug dancing going on and claire has found someone to partner her who can actually dance as well as she can. he's a hot mess - latino looking, biker looking, dangerous looking, except a guy with moves like that must go to dance school, so if you picture him in tights and ballet slippers he's nowhere near as scary. i say this to edward, who laughs. he and i are laughing constantly until it's time to leave.

a week on and i'm still snarky and so is he but the antagonism has diminished somewhat and i'm finding him marginally less annoying. _marginally_.


	5. Chapter 5

/ - 5 - /

even if edward isn't irritating me six ways from sunday lately, he was an utter douche about the alec episode. alec's a nice guy who didn't deserve a close encounter with a psycho just because of what should have been an uncomplicated hookup. since i walk past the bar where i met him on my way home from work, i keep an eye out in case he's there. a few days later, he is.

i'm not surprised he has a wary expression when he spots me.

'hello trouble.'

fair call.

'i want to apologize for what happened the other night.'

he shrugs. 'angry ex-boyfriend. i don't blame him. i'm glad i didn't get punched. don't worry about it.'

'he's not my ex-boyfriend. he shares the house with me and two other girls. he's protective of us and he can get a bit zealous. he's okay now.'

'you think so?'

alec's expression is wry. i consider the likelihood of ratfree having become a pleasant, normal person instead of a maniac and concede that it's not high.

'hmm. anyway, can i get you a beer?' i ask.

'sure. thanks. no-one's going to burst in on us are they?'

ha ha. it turns out that alec is good company and i enjoy talking with him about nothing in particular, but after the second beer it occurs to me that we could take things further than drinking and talking. we could take up where we left off the last time we met.

after the third beer i say, 'so, do you live far from here?'

he gets it. 'what are you saying?' he asks, smiling, 'just so i've got it right?'

at his place, it's straight down to business. we kiss, we undress, and he's in me.

it's really, really good but suddenly he pulls all the way out, panting on his knees between my legs, eyes screwed shut.

'what's the matter?'

'i'm really close. i know you're not there yet. we have to stop for a minute.'

how does he know? 'please don't stop.'

'if i keep going now i'll come.'

'do it. i want to feel you.'

he does. when he gets back into bed after dealing with the condom and cleaning up he starts kissing down my body.

'alec, i'm a bit - over-stimulated. it's okay.'

'will you stay?'

'sure. i couldn't get up anyway. i'm marshmallow.'

when i wake he's not next to me but he turns up carrying a glass of ojay.

'there's a toothbrush on the bathroom counter for you. did i mention i do great toast and honey? do you want to eat before or after?'

'before or after what? cleaning my teeth?'

'before or after you come back to bed and i show you what's what.'

'what's what?'

'yeah, birdcake.'

'birdcake? what does that mean?'

'it's a term of endearment. you have a bird's name and you're sweet.'

'i don't think many people find me sweet.'

'their loss.'

well, shit. yeah, he was a random hookup a couple of weeks ago, edward was completely right, but now he's a whole different proposition.

back in bed he pulls me on top of him for kissing. once we stop for the condom he's got me on top, but reverse. he strokes my back, brings himself up to kiss my shoulders.

'hey,' he says, taking me by the wrist and pushing my hand down towards where we meet.

'you want me to touch you?' i say, cupping his balls.

'i want you to touch _you_.'

this is nice for a while, but i want to see him. i climb off and turn around.

'yeah?' he asks.

'is this okay?'

'are you kidding? got a front row seat here, birdcake, to the greatest show on earth.'

he holds my breasts. he waits for me to set a rhythm and he's hard as a fucking rock. he makes me come.

'that was beautiful,' he pants as he flips us over. 'again?'

'probably. it'll take a little while.'

'i've got time.'

he takes time. he says hot things, he knows to stay close in and keep constant. i'm building up and i tell him 'faster.'

he says no.

i grab his hips and pull but he's much stronger than i am and he says, 'trust me.'

i grab his ass and sink my nails in and he hisses and narrows his eyes but he doesn't alter his pace. i'm nearly levitating off the mattress in my desperation but the intensity's getting higher and higher. when i reach the point of no return i'm suspended wide-eyed and breathless for an age, waiting for the crash. when it happens it's not an explosion, it's something quiet but powerful that resonates all over - ripples that keep rippling.

'christ. fourteen,' alec gasps, turning his face into my neck and letting go.

when consciousness re-emerges he's slipped his upper half to one side of me, his weight partly supported by the bed. if it wasn't for his hips still pinning me i'd float away.

'why did you say fourteen?'

'your contractions, but there may have been more. i lost my brain.'

'why were you counting?'

'when you were getting close i needed, um, a distraction so i could hold on. when i felt you come, yeah, i started counting. it worked for a while.'

i want to ask - do you always count? what do you usually get up to? am i normal? - although i know i just had an orgasm that lasted way longer than any other i've had.

'you felt me come?'

he lifts his head and he's grinning like a halloween pumpkin.

'oh yeah,' he says. 'i felt it.'

it's only six o'clock and we drift back to sleep.

at ten he says, 'do you have to be anywhere today?'

'uh-huh. by one.'

it isn't true, but i figure it's a good idea to have an exit plan.

'breakfast,' he says.

the honey and toast is nice and we find a cafe on the next street for coffee.

'so bella, i guess this is the point where you say you don't want a relationship and i say i don't either and we kiss and say goodbye without exchanging phone numbers.'

he's nice and he fucks like a revelation but i don't want complications.

'i don't want a relationship,' i say.

'i know. neither do i.'

'so - kissing?'

we're on the pavement now, waiting for an empty cab to take me away and leave him behind. the kissing gets kind of lengthy.

'birdcake - saying goodbye isn't turning out to be quite that easy,' he sighs.

and shit just got complicated.

'i'm with medecins sans frontieres. i'm waiting for a placement. it could be tomorrow, it could be a couple of weeks, but i'm leaving and i don't know when i'll be back.'

'you're a doctor?' i don't really know anything about him other than what his dick can do.

'i'm an electrical engineer. you know the organisation? they don't only employ medical personnel, they take on all sorts of support staff too. i'm going to work on electricity installation in hospitals. i'll also be training local people in wiring, safety, systems - things they need to know to keep electrical medical equipment operational and safe.'

'um. ah - where will you go?'

'it depends on what's needed where - you don't get to choose. most probably africa or the middle east.'

thirty minutes ago he licked crumbs off the side of my mouth, now i'm going to catch a cab to my secure, pretty house and he's going somewhere unstable, possibly even a war zone.

'so you don't want a girlfriend. because.'

'i do want a girlfriend but i can't ask a girl to wait for me when i have no return date.'

probably not many casual hookups end with someone announcing they're off to do something heroic and self-sacrificing for humanity. alec is far smarter than i'd assumed he'd be, much nicer than i'd expected, and way out of reach. cabs come and go and i stand there.

'do you want me to flag down a cab for you?'

'are you busy this afternoon?'

'no. i've cleared everything up so i'm free when i get the notification.'

'can we go back to your place?'

'i thought _you_ were busy.'

'i can cancel.'

god i'm a bitch. i make a pretend phone call, calling off a plan i didn't have, and we go back to his apartment, which isn't his apartment, he explains. he's house-minding for a friend since he left his own place and sold all his furniture.

'you're not planning to come back?'

'i'm not planning anything. well - apart from spending the afternoon with you. you want to watch a movie?'

'maybe. i don't know.'

'okay. a maybe. are you into card games?'

'like what?'

devilish smile.

'strip poker?'

'i don't really know how to play poker.'

'i don't really know if there's a deck of cards anywhere. we could miss the poker aspect and just play strip. that's what i choose.'

we face each other in the bedroom and he removes a shoe. i remove a shoe. he peels off a sock, i peel off a sock. i copy his movements until he's shirtless, in his boxers, and i'm in bra and panties. i want to throw myself at him, but he beats me to it, pushing me back so i'm lying down. my mouth, my neck, my chest, kissing his way down to my nipples through the bra, then tugging the cup aside to taste my flesh. then he descends further and he's licking and sucking me through my panties until i reach for his shoulder and he looks up.

'i've barely started.'

'come up here.'

'please, don't be the fun police.'

a finger snakes in to the elastic and his shocking tongue is on me. his hands hold my thighs apart. i can't stand it for long, and reach again.

his eyes are glazed, almost sleepy. 'hey, i want this. why are you stopping me? are you self-conscious?'

he focuses, and raises his head properly. 'don't be. relax, birdcake, let it happen.'

of course, the best way to make someone tense is to tell them to relax. i tense up.

'okay,' he says and moves up the bed to lie next to me. 'enough preliminaries, right? you want my huge cock.'

'yeah,' i smile.

'i understand that completely.'

he doesn't give it to me, though.

we're kissing, and i raise my hips to help him slip my panties off. then his hand is exploring between my thighs. my body reacts by stiffening, which i hope is imperceptible, but he pauses.

'hey.'

'mmm.'

'hey. look at me for a sec.'

i do, reluctantly.

'is this okay?' he means his fingers.

'sure. yeah. it's okay.'

another kiss while his fingers move on my clit.

'sweetheart, i don't think you're being honest. it's like you hold your breath when i touch you here.'

'i'm fine. i'm holding my breath because it feels good.'

nobody has ever noticed that i don't really like any action down there except for dick action. i mean, it's not a forbidden zone, more like limited. access is strictly for a short time only. alec, however, must be the noticing sort.

'are you nervous?'

'of course not.'

'you flinched.'

'no i didn't! i don't know what you're talking about.'

he takes his hand away. 'has somebody hurt you?'

'god, no. i'd hardly be here in bed with you if i had a problem with guys getting near my girl parts, would i? and we've already had sex about fifty times, remember?'

'not yet, but we've got the rest of today.' he says. 'first, i really want to go down on you.'

he raises the sheet over his head and shoulders, sliding towards the foot of the bed, and my jitters get the better of me.

'i need the bathroom.'

nervousness does set in once i'm in there behind the locked door because i don't know what to do. i don't even need to pee - i need to think of an excuse.

he's sitting up when i head back to the bedroom, and he's in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

'i think we need a talk birdcake, and it's less confrontational if we're not in bed,' he says casually, though gently.

'if you're getting dressed and we've finished our activities i might just head home. you've probably got things to do, i mean with your upcoming departure and all that.'

'nope. i'm all organised. please don't leave. let's go and sit on the couch.'

i think it sounds like a dumb idea. we could be rollicking all over each other one last time. i mean, he's fricking departing the country, right? for good? last chance train, boarding now? i vote we forget about the fucking couch unless he's sitting on it and i'm sitting on him, but apparently, this isn't a democracy.

somehow, we're side by side on the stupid couch.


	6. Chapter 6

/ - 6 - /

'so,' he says. 'tell me if i'm wrong. i've made an observation that you don't seem to want me to have direct contact with your clit. of course, it's your absolute right to disallow me. it's just that i want to do it. am i clumsy? i'm very, very willing to take instructions.'

'you don't need any instructions.'

'teach me anyway.'

'you know what you're doing.'

'but you don't like it.'

stop being fucking persistent in a kind way. 'do i have your permission to have a preference?' i snap, without really meaning to.

his eyes open wide. 'have all the preferences you want.'

his arm is around me, his long easy body at my side, and i have no quarrel with him but suddenly i'm sitting here on the verge of a sulk.

'i don't have a problem,' i state.

'if you say so.'

'why are you seeing an issue where there isn't one?'

a soft, snorting laugh. 'i have a twin sister, as you know. she started talking when we were less than a year old - i didn't talk until we were three. she's never given up that advantage. after so long attending the school of jane i've learned if a woman says there's nothing wrong, there's definitely something wrong and i need to start listening. even if she's not speaking, she's saying plenty. your body is telling me right now that you're uncomfortable. i know there's an issue here, bella, even if you're claiming there isn't.'

'well, there isn't, and it's nothing to you.'

'it _is_ something to me,' he says. 'and you can tell me anything. anything. i want it all. tell me stuff.'

my surroundings warrant a great deal more attention than alec right at this moment. the decor in this room is quite interesting. i might as well memorize the woodgrain of the floorboards while i'm here, doing nothing. what would i tell you, alec? there's zero to tell. absolutely big fat nada.

and then, with no order from my brain, my mouth opens.

'i was shy when i was a kid and my mom used to worry about how much time i spent alone. when i was fourteen she booked me on a summer camp. i'm not exactly the outdoor type so i didn't take part in most of the activities and i just failed at being social. on the last night there was a dance and i went along since the other girls in my cabin were so buzzed about it and my mom had made me pack a dress specially. i felt like a complete misfit because even with having been there for four weeks i didn't know anyone. then a guy asked me to dance with him and i did. he wanted to keep dancing and my other option was to slink back to the sidelines and be a wallflower, so i kept dancing. he was talking and i didn't hear everything, like, even his name, but he was friendly and it was fun. when i needed the restroom he came too and waited for me and it was quieter there. i said i hadn't caught his name and he said james. he was seventeen. i was flattered by his attention and i told him i was sixteen. i thought if i admitted my real age he'd run a mile. then one of the girls in my cabin came by to give me a soda. she and some others had been talking earlier about how they had a plan to get alcohol and i hadn't paid attention, but the soda tasted weird. it was bitter and i only drank about half. james asked if i wanted to walk outside and i said yes. we wandered along and he said he'd seen me on the first day and hoped i'd be in some of the activities with him but i never seemed to be. when i said i'd been mainly reading he laughed. i was feeling happy and floaty and i felt like i got on with him really well. we must have spent a couple of hours together by the time he asked if he could kiss me. so yeah, we kissed and i hoped he couldn't tell it was my first time. he put his jacket on the ground and we sat on it until the makeout session got to the stage that i was lying down. when he put his hand up my skirt i was still too busy trying to pretend i was older to say no. i didn't want him to think i was naive and inexperienced. then he progressed to using his tongue and i was shocked but i still went along with it for a while, thinking that there were plenty of girls my age going this far and further. it didn't feel right, though. i didn't know him, i was anxious, i felt splayed open and exposed. i was scared we'd be discovered and get in trouble. i'd be called a slut. james could be charged with sexual assault and maybe even imprisoned. but then i started to think of more sinister things, like how stupid i was for putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation with a stranger who must think i intended to have sex since i'd gone with him so willingly. i wanted to stop but i had no idea if he would. scenarios were going through my head where he hurt me and forced me. by then i was really frightened. i didn't know if anyone would hear me if i screamed or if we were too far from where everyone else was. when i tried to say something to him my throat seized up, i started shaking, i guess it was sort of a panic attack - '

i've never told anyone this. that night has been filed away under 'do not revisit' in my brain and i've never even peeked in there to re-examine it. talking about it now has made me go rigid and get short of breath.

'what happened, bella?' alec asks softly.

'oh, he stopped straight away, asking if i was all right and when he saw i was a wreck he straightened up my clothes and just held me and rubbed my back like i was a little kid. he was so gentle, trying to soothe me. then we walked back to my cabin and that was it. i wasn't hurt. i'd been scared but it turned out there'd been nothing to be scared of. shit, i don't know why i even told you. it's such a non-story.'

'you felt violated.'

'no. i'd consented all the way along.'

'consent's a little dubious when someone's been drinking. he took advantage.'

'he had no reason to think i had any misgivings about what he did.'

alec's quiet and maybe that means the conversation's over. that's a relief. i clear my mind deliberately and stare at the tv as though it's on.

but the silence keeps going and my mind turns back to that night and its aftermath. more words come.

'i was so ashamed, because i'd known him for a matter of hours and he was in my pants. whether anyone else ever found out or not, that still made me a slut. i felt stupid for lying about my age and trying to be cool when all it did was get me in a situation i didn't know how to deal with. i wondered if i smelt bad or tasted bad down there. i felt guilty because i thought he probably expected me to reciprocate and there was no way i was going anywhere near his dick - i'd never even seen one, the idea of it terrified me. he must have thought he was going to get sex from this sixteen year old who'd gone traipsing off alone with him in the dark but instead he'd wound up with a frightened kid verging on going hysterical.'

words pour out, i can't seem to stem the tide.

'i didn't know anything about guys. single child, no boys-next-door, no cousins, not even any male friends at school. there was just no way i'd been emotionally mature enough for that kind of intimacy. it had felt invasive and embarrassing. i couldn't forgive myself afterwards, i thought i was so dirty. it's felt that way ever since. i like sex itself - i mean actually screwing. i like it a lot. but the extras, the other stuff - when someone touches me there with their fingers i switch off.'

alec's quiet again. it was tmi and i'm a weirdo and i'm glad he's getting on a plane soon because it means i'll never have to face him again. god, i've mortified myself. i need to get out of there.

before i can leap for the door, alec's hand is on my arm.

'hey,' he says, so quietly. 'stick around? we're still talking. did you try to find james later? track him down?'

i glance up from where i've been trying to hide beneath my frown. 'no. what would i have done that for?'

'the damage he did has had a lasting effect on you. maybe it would be cathartic to confront him.'

'but i don't blame him for any of it. i said that, didn't i? he was a nice guy. he stopped the second i asked him to and he looked after me. he wasn't angry - he was kind and thoughtful.'

'but you're permanently scarred. he set up a roadblock in your ability to own your sensuality. his actions have stolen pleasure from you.'

'that's not true! what he actually did didn't cause the problem - the problem is tied to how i felt about myself afterwards, how i reacted,' i say, in defence of james. 'i'm the one suppressing my response, it's not because of him - ' then i sit with my mouth open because i realize what i've just said is true. my clitoris works just fine when i let it. the times it doesn't work are due to a mental block, not to any dysfunction in my nerve endings. and if i was the one who put that block in place, whatever the reason - then maybe i can find a way to get rid of it too.

'smart alec,' i say in wonder.

'what?' he smiles.

'you've just helped me have an epiphany. sort of.'

'sort of?'

'yeah. i don't know what happens, but - it's all in my mind, isn't it?'

'i think that's simplifying the matter, but on the other hand, maybe it really is that simple. maybe it's a conditioned response - when a guy touches you intimately, without you having conscious awareness of it your brain flips back to that situation where you were scared and felt powerless. there's also the shame you felt afterwards - you've got a real cocktail of emotions going on. at the time you were too young to deal with them and you had no help - the way you've reacted is to train yourself not to experience pleasurable sensations because of the associations they evoke. you've heard of neuroplasticity? i think when you feel truly safe with a guy you'll be able to retrain your brain.'

god. i could cure myself? i mean, i'm not sick, but what he's saying really rings a bell. when i'm on my own, orgasms are easy. they're relatively easy when i have sex, as long as there are no hands involved, but whenever a guy does what james did, i turn into an automaton, like, frozen.

'so what's your recommendation then? where do i go from here?'

'i'm no psychologist, but you've got options. you can leave things as they are, or get some books and see if you can work through it on your own. or you could see a therapist. or, when you meet a guy who you think you might like, don't jump straight in and then get disillusioned if things aren't magic immediately. give yourself and him plenty of time to get well acquainted. you need to build up trust and _love_ \- you need to know him well enough to be honest with him. then start experimenting. i really think it's a trust issue - and a safety issue. there's absolutely nothing wrong with you, you'll just need to find the right man.'

he's so wise he's a fucking guru. guru alec. 'option four sounds good. i want option four, although i can't see it happening any time soon.'

guru alec smiles and kisses my forehead. 'come on now, birdcake, be open to possibilities. when you do find that man, you're both going to be seeing stars, i bet you. and you know what else? he's going to be one lucky guy.'


	7. Chapter 7

/ - 7 - /

following our illuminating conversation, alec and i hang out snuggling, watching crap shows and eating junk food for the rest of the day but even so, i am definitely radiating afterglow as i slither through the front door of my house on sunday evening. i've had the the best sex of my life, and my head's swirling with all that he and i discussed. knowing he's leaving gives a poignant edge to what would otherwise be victorious optimism.

'where the fuck have you been?' claire demands, hands on hips. 'this better be good.'

'i got arrested. i've been down at the station in a cell all night.'

she hoots with laughter. 'bullshit. you've got _i've had a fuckton of hot filthy sex with a monster-dick love hound_ written all over you.'

you can't fool claire. edward's at his parents' for the weekend so we don't need to retire to emily's room to discuss what went down - we can have a pow-wow in the kitchen. i don't tell them quite everything.

'so we'll be running into alec all the time now round here? waiting for the shower in the morning, that sort of thing?' emily asks. 'because he's your boyfriend?'

'no. he's got a job overseas. he's leaving soon.'

claire and emily look at one another, then back to me.

'well shit,' claire says. 'no queueing for the bathroom then.'

'never mind,' emily says.

'thank you for caring,' i tell them both.

on thursday edward's cooking dinner. claire and i have crumpled a piece of paper into a ball and are using the heels of our palms to skim it at one another from opposite ends of the kitchen table. emily is umpire. it's our version of table-hockey even though most of the time the puck is rolling on the floor. when there's a knock on the front door emily goes to answer and edward takes over umpiring. he can't pay attention because he's stirring the curry so he's calling decisions that make no sense, and declaring foul and offside all over the place.

emily walks in followed by alec, which stops everybody in their tracks.

'hey sugar,' he says to me. 'hi hotshot,' he says to claire.

extending a hand he approaches edward.

'we nearly met the other night, perhaps you remember. i'm alec.'

edward ignores him, glaring ferociously over alec's shoulder at me instead.

alec smiles at me. 'i just dropped by on the offchance you'd be home. i want to talk to you.'

'let's go in the other room,' i say.

there's an abrupt cessation of noise as edward turns off the fan over the stovetop.

'i'm guessing bella hasn't told you she's _gay_,' he tells alec.

you could hear a pin drop in the ensuing silence. for fuck's sake edward, _what?_ we're all speechless, except for alec.

'huh. she wasn't on saturday,' he comments, adding almost as an afterthought, '_or_ sunday.'

edward's face is priceless, not to mention bloodless. match, set and game to the guy i'd thought looked boring, who isn't boring at all. _at all_.

claire splutters into laughter, her voice following me and alec. 'bella - a lesbian? i would fucking love that, but she so isn't and neither am i. goddamn.'

since the atmosphere in the living room feels a little toxic due to insane-edward vibes zapping us from the kitchen, alec and i go out.

we eat at the italian cafe on the next block that does spaghetti bolognese, garlic bread and garden salad and that's all. six bucks a serve and it's the best outside italy, or so it says on the sign in the window. it's pretty damn good anyway. over coffee he tells me he's leaving tomorrow.

'so this is a farewell?'

'yep. but here's my number. my phone contract finishes in about - ah - twenty-four hours.'

'where are they sending you?'

'away. i can tell you, but do you really want me to?'

'probably not. i'd just be watching the news and worrying.'

'you'd worry? i don't want that.'

'well, i will anyway, you can't stop me. i'll send safety vibes out worldwide to look after you.'

he gives me the ghost of a smile. 'i'm glad i met you, bella.'

'yeah,' i sigh. 'i'm glad too, even though this hurts.'

alec walks me home and i open the door, reluctant to go in. alec stands close.

'i want to ask you some questions, birdcake,' he says.

'sure.'

'can i kiss you?'

i nod, but i can't say anything because his tongue's in my mouth so fast.

then he says, 'can i put my hands here?' sliding his hands into the back pockets of my jeans, cupping my ass.

i don't answer that one either because his tongue's straight back where it just was.

then he murmurs, 'will you call me tomorrow?'

i don't answer, i just nod again, wanting to cry. i kiss him until he pulls back gently, giving me an impossibly sweet and heartbreakingly sad smile before turning and walking away.

inside, edward's standing in his doorway.

'he calls you _birdseed_?' he says.

head down, i walk past.

'i don't even want to know where he was planning on putting his stupid hands.'

there are tears in my eyes; i nearly stumble on the first stair.

'is he your boyfriend now?'

no. he's not.

'are you sleeping with him?' he persists.

not any more.

the next friday the club are hosting another themed night and it's written on our kitchen blackboard. hawaii. emily and claire are excited - i'm trying to muster enthusiasm. edward hasn't really spoken for days. i haven't taken much notice because i'm shell-shocked over alec's departure. maybe i could do with a snarkfight.

'you coming too, boyjack?' claire asks.

'that depends,' he says, slanting a sideways look at me.

'alec's not around if that's holding you back.'

'then maybe it's party time.'

stay out of my way if you know what's good for you, i want to snarl, and i'm just about to - but claire interrupts. we don't need civil war in the kitchen - or uncivil, which is more likely.

'you realise you're not going to be allowed to select your own outfit. you'll be dressed by emily,' she says to edward.

'sure. i'm game.'

'just as well, since the theme is hawaii and not cemetery. all your clothes are black. what's with that?' i snap.

'i don't have to co-ordinate anything. black goes with black, right?' he snaps back.

'guess so. at least your underwear doesn't get _dingy_.'

he curls his lip at me and turns to emmy. 'so what's the whole wardrobe deal? what are we wearing?'

'lesbian bikinis,' i say before she can answer.

'what the fuck is a lesbian bikini?' he asks.

'stick around and see, boyjack.'

emily has stunning outfits for all of us, of course. in tropical-print sarong skirts tied at the hip and matching tie tops, we girls are dressed to blind. edward's in tight, knee-length shorts and a sunset shirt, with his hair combed back like the last time he went to the club. it doesn't pay to look too closely at him, so i don't, even when we're sitting opposite one another at a small table with umbrella-spiked cocktails in front of us, and no claire or emily in sight.

'so where's the boyfriend?'

'i don't have a boyfriend.'

'ouch. does he know that?'

'who?'

'the boyfriend who isn't your boyfriend.'

'i take it you mean alec? he's gone.'

'yeah. alec. what do you mean, gone? you killed him and buried him in a shallow grave?'

'oh, very funny. no, he went overseas.'

'where?'

'across the ocean.'

'for how long?'

i shrug.

edward's jaw clenches. 'you don't know when he's coming back?'

'no.'

from the look i'm getting now, i'd say he's trying to gauge my feelings about this information.

'are you going after him?'

'no.'

he might be trying to gauge his own.

'are you in love with him?'

'back off ratfree, it's none of your business.'

'i'm sorry, birdseed.'

'what for?'

'prying.'

'no, you're not.'

'okay, i'm sorry your boyfriend left you.'

'no, you're not.'

'okay, i'm sorry if you're hurting. i mean it.'

he does, i can tell. he might not be sorry as to _why_ i'm hurting, for whatever headfucked incomprehensible reason he's got going, but he's genuinely sorry i've been down. weirdo.

'don't worry about it. have you got weed?' i reply. 'let's get blazed.'

as i expected, once i've had a smoke i don't feel so bad. i don't feel bad at all. i even find edward bearable.

'you suit blue,' he says.

'i suit blue? you mean blue suits me,' i say.

'blue schmoo. suit schmuit. whatever,' he says, smirking. 'semantics.'

'sunset becomes you,' i smirk back and then the laughing starts.

life proceeds and i guess in our house we kind of get used to each other. there's this kind of transition that none of us are even aware of it's so smooth and gradual, during which edward does a complete about-face from being a thorn in my side to being practically human.

we girls all get our periods at the same time of course, and there's one sunday we're miserable and moping and the formerly intolerable edward gathers every pillow and quilt in the house to make a nest for us on his queen bed. in our red room. after bustling us in there with a hot water bottle each he fiddles about and gets baz luhrman's romeo and juliet streaming on his bigass flatscreen.

'is it safe to come in?' his voice asks at the door forty minutes later.

'if you look like leonardo dicaprio,' i say.

'and kiss like him, too,' claire adds.

'i don't know about that,' he says dubiously, but he's standing there with a tray.

he's made hot cocoa and chocolate cake. fuck me.

'can i join this slumber party or is it girls only?'

there's space for him since we're curled up around one another. romeo and juliet finishes and he sets up that no-talking movie called the artist and i guess somewhere along the line everyone falls asleep. i wake to find myself on one side of the bed, head to head and toe to toe with edward, like we're dancing. both his arms are around me and mine are between us, against his chest. christ knows how that happened. extricating myself without disturbing anyone else is tricky but i manage. safely out in the hall i'm heaving sighs of relief like i just ran a marathon.

when claire announces she's been given a managerial position at the cafe and her wages have jumped, we could kick edward out but we don't. the four of us can squish quite comfortably into the living room as long as no-one minds the sardine-like conditions. it becomes apparent that we can cope. anyway, the kitchen's pretty spacious and we spend a lot of time in there together. edward's by far the best cook and he feeds us all most nights. despite him winding me up about his piano and his gruelling practice regime it turns out the keyboard in his room doesn't cut it in the serious muso stakes and never has. he does most of his necessary practice at college on a proper, bazillion-thousand dollar grand piano. the keyboard is at the house just in case the muse visits him at some ungodly hour and he desperately needs to try something out. so he says. it's okay anyway, because - well, i don't know. it's just okay.

alec isn't in touch. i knew he wouldn't be. sometimes i think i invented him, but i know he was real because of how much he changed me. i feel different. whether i'll feel different the next time i'm horizontal with a guy i don't know, but it's something i keep thinking about. something else he said has got me thinking too - the bit about finding someone i trust and want to be with. god, alec - that's a big call. that means like, developing an actual relationship, with an actual male guy man person - like, a _boyfriend_. breaking new ground. shit.


	8. Chapter 8

/ - 8 - /

one evening we're all home and i'm in my room drawing the curtains when the bracket holding the rail on one side simply falls out of the wall. the rail and the curtain clatter down and i shriek.

in moments the two e's are have appeared.

'oh,' emily exclaims, rushing to the curtain.

'i think i'll live, thank you very much,' i tell her as she cradles the fabric, inspecting it for injury.

'you're okay?' edward asks.

'yes i am, and hey - you're not supposed to come in here without an invitation, remember? i haven't rescinded your non-permission.'

'pardon my concern for your safety,' he says, retreating to the door as i survey the situation. it's nothing that can't be repaired, and we have tools and a stepladder downstairs.

as i'm collecting what i need edward's right behind me.

'i can fix it for you,' he offers.

'no need. i can fix it for me,' i say. 'i'm not a damsel in distress.'

'i'm sure you're not, but the top of your window has to be about eight feet high. you won't be able to reach it standing on that ladder.'

upstairs, once the ladder's in place i can see he's right but i'm damned if i'm going to admit i need his help.

i'm stubbornly as high as i can get, straining upwards towards a point i'm never going to be able to reach. it's fucking annoying. i get on my tiptoes for that little bit of extra height and the next thing i know i'm wobbling dangerously. the next thing i know after that is that edward's sprung over from the doorway and wrapped his arms around my thighs, which brings his face - yeah. right there.

'enjoying yourself?' i ask. he blushes to the tips of his ears but he rallies enough to answer.

'enjoying _your_self?'

he loosens his grip but still holds me by the hips. 'sorry - you weren't looking very steady.'

'maybe if you help me to balance i'll be able to manage.' why haven't i kicked him through the window for touching me? who knows? i'm a little unsettled about where his hands are and where his head is, and i make a bad judgement and more or less lunge for the top of the window. stupid. if edward hadn't been holding me i'd have gone through the glass.

'it's okay bella, i've got you,' he's mumbling and i know he has - i can feel the strength in his arms. piano playing must be a good workout. clutching the drill, i get onto my toes, glancing down quickly at him for encouragement, or something.

'don't worry, you won't fall,' he says.

i believe him, but despite my injured pride, i need to admit i simply can't manage this basic stupid fucking home maintenance job because i can't reach far enough.

he knows it, too.

'bella, let me do it,' he says and i raise one eyebrow. 'you know what i mean,' he adds quickly.

yes i do but i've never been able to resist winding him up. why change now? with one step down, we're eye to eye.

'well, even though i could do it by myself while you watch, i want you to do it for me. _please_,' i say.

i could gloat that he's embarrassed, but i don't. he's trying to help and i'm trying to score points - that makes me an ass. golly gee. self-awareness bella - congratulations.

'the rail. curtain. thing,' i mutter.

then he's on the step ladder with his arms raised over his head and his shirt riding up exposing a sliver of belly and his hipbones. he's pale there - flat and taut. fine traces of veins lie just beneath his skin. i can see hair, like, i mean that silky trail that guys have heading down from their navels. his is dark brown, not auburn like the hair on his head. for some reason, i find it as sexy as fuck. in a sane world i could not actually be perving on ratfree, but the world must have gone mad, because here i am. shoot me.

a few days later edward invites us girls out. a friend of his studying cinematography has made a short film and it's screening in a mini-festival at an arthouse cinema in the city.

on the night in question edward appears in the kitchen wearing a suit, which nearly makes me cough up my doritos and salsa with grated cheese - my contribution to household menu-planning. he looks damned good and emily's face is distinctly surprised.

'are you all ready to go?' edward asks, and we thought we were, but claire and i are in jeans although em's in a black and gold shift dress that looks like it came from the mad men costume department.

'shit, is this event formal?' claire asks.

'gee, thanks for the prior intel,' i say and of course emily's already teleported to her boudoir boutique and has garments ready for us to simply step into. now we all look like extras from a mad men party scene.

the movie has no dialogue and seemingly no narrative and i have no fucking idea what it's about. the best aspect of it is the music, which is orchestral and moody and swirls around a lot.

claire leans over me to address edward, who i've ended up sitting next to.

'tres noir,' she says. 'tres chic.'

'quel horreur,' i add.

there's drinks afterwards and edward disappears, no doubt hanging with the arty intellectuals while we girls slum it with the regular people. i find the bathroom and when i get back to the foyer claire's got that dangerous look that says she's scanning for men, and emily seems to have wandered off.

she hasn't wandered far though.

a few yards away i can see her standing next to some guy with her hand on his arm. given that she's a bonafide card-carrying alien, unless he already knows her this could be bad. claire reacts before i do, heading straight for the pair. if she's joining the fray to defend emily against possible reactions to how odd she can be, things could go very quickly from bad to worse. i go over there too, and sure enough, emily has cracked out the weird. she's stroking the guy's sleeve with an intensity that makes her touch more like a direct fondle and she's murmuring, 'al_paca_.' her hand moves up to his bicep and she's transfixed, still fondling.

'_suri_. bespoke?' she breathes.

far from being concerned the man appears amused, which is a relief. there is a concerned witness though besides me and claire, and it's edward, materialising next to emily.

'chancellor uley,' he says. 'i didn't know you'd be attending.'

'it's not my usual practice to broadcast my every movement,' the man answers drily. 'well done, by the way, mr cullen. i enjoyed your work tonight.'

'thank you, sir. this is my housemate. ah, emily.'

emily finally unhands chancellor uley and gives him one of her fey smiles.

'ah,' he says. 'this is emily.'

'and this is, ah - claire and bella,' edward says, a little flushed. very strange.

'ah. claire and bella. please, call me samuel,' chancellor uley says, smiling back at emily. 'yes, suri. bespoke, too.'

'don't tell me he speaks her language,' i mutter to edward. i wish he'd wipe that stupid red off his face because he looks pretty cute blushing.

'i'm getting some iced water. you thirsty, girls?' he asks and practically shoves me away, trying to haul claire after me and pushing himself between emily and samuel, breaking up what's about to become a conversation.

'well, dude, that was psycho,' claire tells him. 'why don't you want emzie talking to chancellor yoo-hoo?'

'i think we should leave. the whole thing's finished now anyway,' he says.

'what about my iced water?' i say.

'we'll get some at home.'

drinking un-iced water back at home, since we don't have any ice because no-one filled the tray, i work out what's been bugging me for the last half hour.

'boyjack, why did samuel say he enjoyed your work?'

'he must have been confused.'

'what's he the chancellor of?'

'the music college.'

'i don't expect you get to be a chancellor of a music college if you're the easily confused type.'

'i don't think he's confused. i think he's nice,' emily says.

'jesus h christ, all hands on deck,' claire says. 'you think he's _nice,_ emmie?'

this is a new development in the life and times of emily young.

emily doesn't reply, edward's taken aback, claire and i are astonished and the water's still room temperature.

a couple days later there's a package in the mail, one of those padded envelopes, addressed to us three girls. it contains a dvd with a handwritten note slipped under the cover.

'dear emily, claire and bella, i thought you might like a copy of this. it was interesting to meet you all the other night. best wishes, samuel.'

'huh. what was interesting about it?' i say.

'it was pretty high on the arm-grope-a-complete-stranger factor. some people might find that interesting,' claire says. 'particularly the person on the receiving end.'

i turn the dvd over and read the credits and that's when i spot what's _really_ interesting. the name of the short film we saw appears at the top and people involved in production are listed below. the music was composed by anthony masen, whoever that is. the soundtrack is divided into three parts, each with its own name.

i hand the dvd to claire. she goggles and hands it to emily. emily goggles too.

the pieces of music are titled emmeline, clara and isobel.

the dvd's in the player faster than the speed of light and we watch in absolute silence, listening intently. the emmeline track is full of little melodies flitting around like a butterfly but always returning to a theme that's delicate and complicated. clara is simpler and sounds sort of strong, even vaguely military, while being uplifting and triumphant. and isobel? it has a pulsing rhythm woven by a brooding bassline and tribal drums. initially there are spiky jarring parts that jump out, while never losing the beat. then the spiky bits are replayed, but smoothly and gathering momentum. there's a climax, oh shit, yes there is, which gives way to gentle repeats of the earlier lines.

'who the everloving fuck is anthony masen?' i demand.

emily laughs.

'who do you fucking think?' claire says.

she goes to the spice rack that we use instead to keep miscellaneous bits of paper in and digs out a torn envelope that one of us wrote a shopping list on. it's addressed to mr edward a m cullen. you're fucking kidding me.

'he's very insightful,' emily muses.

'not to mention transparent,' claire adds.

'yes. he wants to make love with you, bella,' emily says.

i jump up so fast my chair overturns. 'how the fuck could anyone jump to that conclusion?'

claire regards me with her head tilted to one side. 'that last little song is hella sexy. you can hear the thrusting.'

'he doesn't want to fuck me! and he writes stupid emo shit.'

'he writes music that tells the truth and it says he wants to make love with you,' emily says dreamily.

'don't shit me! he does not!'

'he likes you and he likes the friction you have together, it's what he wants, he knows you're going to fit. i think he's right. you're very well matched.'

'you're right off the air with this, _emmeline_.'

claire smiles in a way she never does. 'hmm. well, no wonder chancellor u-turn thought it was interesting meeting us. he'd already been given character profiles.'

'christ. just wait till fucking boyjack gets home,' i scowl.

maybe boyjack has had a premonition, because he doesn't come home. actually, since he couldn't know we're clued in to the juicy little secret he obviously wasn't going to let us in on, why hasn't he turned up? he always tells us if he's going to his parents. where are you boyjack? don't you know if you're going to be late you should call? otherwise we worry. and tonight, especially, you should come home so i can kill you. i must get around to asking claire what boyjack means.

and then i think - shit. where the fuck is he - like, _really_? is he lying dead in a fucking ditch somewhere? or - or - i saw those girls at the movie night. glamorous and assured. he could be all over one of those pert, perfect creatures right now. one of them could be all over him, fuck, two of them could be.

not that i fucking care. i don't know why i'm even thinking about it.


	9. Chapter 9

/ - 9 - /

we girls say goodnight to each other and part ways and i have a think about what emily said. ratfree wants to make love with me? i bet he doesn't. and anyway - do i want to make love with him? get out of town. so typical of emmy to use such a old-fashioned phrase. do i want to _fuck_ ratfree? of fucking course not.

i'm just about to snuggle under the covers and give serious consideration to whether i should interrogate ratfree about his music before or after i kill him when my contemplation is disturbed by claire who yells, 'are you decent?' and barges in without waiting for a reply.

'crap, you've got jammies on,' she grumbles. 'whatever happened to sleeping in the nude?'

'the textiles industry happened,' i say.

'yeah, well. to get straight to the point, emmy and i want you to get the hell over your negative attitude towards edward and hit that fine piece of man already.'

i splutter. 'jesus - where do i start with all that's wrong with you saying that?'

'there's nothing wrong with it. just do the grind with him already. you should have done it weeks ago. months, even.'

there doesn't seem to be anything to hand i can stab her with so i just glare. 'what's behind this distasteful suggestion?'

'the four of us like sharing this house - fact - so if you and edward couple up, he moves in with you, and then we get the front room back as the executive office,' she explains, as if it's obvious.

'you'd sell me out for a room?'

'it's a great room! and how is it selling you out? he's got all his own teeth and he's a good cook. plus, he'll play you love songs on the piano with his boner.'

'i think the time has come for you to be in psychiatric lockdown. and anyone who plays a piano with his boner does not belong on this planet.'

'okay, no piano. he's gonna fuck you with it like a speeding train.'

'i don't want to be fucked like a speeding train and if you leave right now we can pretend this conversation never happened.'

'you prefer things gentle, huh? i'll let him know.'

'like hell you will.'

claire gives a little sigh. 'oh, bella. don't worry, emily and i will do everything we can to facilitate a smooth transition for the two of you. you're in our hearts.' she ducks out as i grope for the first thing within reach, which is a sock, and hurl it at her.

so. my negative attitude towards edward? christ, who can blame me? he can be fucking annoying and he's a dick, it's as simple as that. and anyway, that stuff alec was talking about, about me finding a guy blah blah - he meant way in the far off, fuzzy future, not in the next five minutes. and not just the nearest person with a penis, for fuck's sake. someone i get introduced to, or meet at a party or something! not some ratfree, teeth intact, cooking weirdo.

a week later emily and the weirdo are plotting something in the kitchen while i'm reading in the living room trying to block out the number of times they're saying squid ink and black garlic.

food-wise, it has to be said emily's a true pioneer who's rather more concerned with how colorful a meal is than whether it's nutritious or tasty. on her own, she has served up some real stomach-churners but lately she and edward combined have developed a cuisine that's usually palatable while still passing emily's whimsical visual criteria.

when there's a knock at the front door i'm thankful to escape as far as the porch and i plan to engage whoever is there in conversation for at least half an hour.

it's the chancellor. i frown and blink a few times.

'is edward home?'

'uh.'

'bella, isn't it? i met you at the premier. i'm samuel.'

'uh.'

'i've come by to speak to edward.'

'right. edward. i'll go get him.'

i stand there.

'if you don't mind, perhaps i could come in? i could do with a glass of water.'

'oh. um, sure.'

i lead the way to the kitchen, hoping there are no dead squids flailing around in sight anywhere, and discover that there's quite a nice aroma coming from the oven, and the kitchen looks perfectly okay. i can't say the same for edward who's sitting at the table while emily combs his hair into a mohawk style.

'hi,' she smiles, catching sight of samuel. 'have you come for dinner?'

samuel's clearly surprised and also clearly pleased and i wish claire was home to be witness to this. she's home soon enough though, slamming the door and yelling curses down the hall as usual. she stops in the doorway and exclaims, 'chancellor you-know-who!'

god, are we all batshit crazy in this household? edward's the only remotely sane one, although he's only sane if your definition is fairly flexible.

dinner, when it's served, looks terrifying and disgusting - squid ink pasta bake with black olives, black garlic and black bell peppers. god save us all, it's topped with grated black cheese, which emmy glowingly informs us is made with bamboo charcoal. no-one wants to take the first bite, but then brave samuel eats a forkful and doesn't drop dead. i'm amazed to discover it's actually really nice, but still, thank christ it didn't occur to emily to go in search of black wine. samuel stays until ten thirty and emily invites him to the next club night. punk, it says on our blackboard.

'see you there,' nods samuel, exiting.

emily walks him to the door and i've got edward pinned to the wall immediately, holding him there with the evil eye while claire's looking for instruments of torture as she and i demand to know what's going on.

'your chancellor friend has got to be, like sixty!' she hisses. 'why is he sniffing around emily?'

'i think he's in his late thirties, and emily's lovely, as you're well aware.'

'where are his wife and kids while he's off chasing girls young enough to be his daughter?'

'he's not married. emily's, what, twenty-three? twenty-four? that's about a fourteen year difference. but anyway claire, samuel came here to see _me_. i don't know if he's interested in emily, but if he is i'm sure she can make up her own mind.'

emily's mind is a flower garden but he has a point.

friday our punk army are in full regalia, which consists of plaid, safety pins and neon hairspray. claire spots her latino dangerboy straight away and goes to pogo with him. emily spots samuel looking pretty punky for such a smooth dude, in a t-shirt that says new york dolls, and off she goes. edward and i do what's now become our ritual. we hit the balcony and share a joint.

i reckon it's as good a time as any for an inquisition, although i decide i'm going to broach the subject in a roundabout way.

'what does boyjack mean?' i ask.

he shrugs. 'i don't know. what's a lesbian bikini?'

'can't say. i'm sworn to keep it from you, because you're boyjack.'

'what does boyjack mean?'

'i don't know. what's a lesbian bikini?'

'you tell me.'

'so what's the story with that movie soundtrack?'

he looks blank. 'what movie soundtrack?'

'you know what i mean.'

'no i don't. you mean that french movie?'

'what french movie?'

'isn't that what you're talking about?'

'no.'

'romeo and juliet?'

'no, ratfree. i mean _your_ movie.'

he frowns while he thinks about it but i see the second he's on to me.

'i have no idea what you mean,' he says.

what a colossal lie. he knows i know because he's trying not to smirk. he's also trying not to look busted. he's embarrassed and proud of himself about the same thing. his expression is priceless.

'you're lying,' i state.

'misleading's just as bad as lying.'

'what's that got to do with anything? it's a stupid and irrelevant statement.'

'so you think misleading's okay?'

'nobody's doing any misleading, but somebody's lying.'

'why are you talking about misleading? do you have a confession to make?'

'you brought up misleading! why are you being such an idiot?'

'you're insulting me now? such a pleasant girl.'

'aren't i?'

'oh yeah.'

absolutely everything's pleasant right now, not just me. i grin at edward, who's pleasant too, and he grins back.

'can i ask you something?' he says.

'sure. i may or may not answer.'

'hmph. i'd like an answer, thank you very much. are you gay?'

well, i wasn't expecting that. i laugh so hard i'm doubled over.

'not at all. not even remotely. i mean, you saw alec and me that time, right? you have a basic understanding of what was going on? it's not really something i'd do if i was gay.'

'then why did you let me think you were?'

oh. misfuckingleading. he's being serious. we're too stoned for that.

'i can't remember. i think i thought it was amusing. hey, look, there's a star. i wonder how far away it is? i wonder if anyone lives there?'

'i don't think it was amusing.'

'claire did. you should be more like claire.'

my brain's twitching. something, something, i need to figure out - what? is it about the sky? is it about claire? is it about edward?

oh yeah. he didn't answer about the music.

'are you a composer?'

'yeah. well, that's probably a bit of a grand title, but i spend all day and night writing emo shit, so yeah, i guess so.'

'i think you write music that has girls' names and then you evade questions about it.'

'maybe you and i both evade questions. and people don't live on stars, they live on planets.'

he's kind of fucking handsome, evasive or not. and i like it when he laughs.

'your butt is a planet,' i say.

'your face is a planet,' he shoots back.

from up here the city lights are so pretty spread beneath us like a twinkling patchwork quilt. i want to give edward the gift of my poetic thoughts but instead i tip sideways and fall right into him.

'sorry. i'm a bit vertigoed and discombobulized,' i say as his arms come up to steady us both.

'it's all right. have i ever told you how much i admire your vocabulary?'

'your mother admires my vocabulary,' i say.

'she does. nearly as much as i do, because it's awesome.'

'your face is awesome.' oh. that just slipped out. it's pretty funny.

'your butt is awesome,' he says and that's funny, too. we snicker at each other before going back inside.

when we all leave, i'm still out of it enough that i miss my footing on the steps outside the club, stumbling for the second time tonight into edward and narrowly avoiding crashing to the pavement.

'you saved my ass,' i tell him.

his eyebrows go up.

'are you sure? there could be some damage. maybe i should check.'

huh? is he flirting? 'keep your hands to yourself.'

'make me.'

oh yeah, he's flirting. if i wasn't stoned he'd get a slap but with my head full of mind-altering chemicals he just makes me crack up. i grab his hand to stop him reaching for my backside.

'it's weird how your palm is smooth and the back of your hand is rough and hairy,' i comment.

'are you for real?' he snorts.

'yeah, i'm for real, but what are you?'

'_human_. you have hair on the back of your hand too, freakella, unless you get all-over brazilian waxes and then pencil in your eyebrows. are your eyebrows pencilled in?'

i dodge and duck, he pretends to chase me, and emily and claire are going 'what's with you two?'

nothing, we're just high, that's all.


	10. Chapter 10

A Message To My Readers:

Hi everyone. Sorry I haven't updated this in so long and I've slipped behind on the other stories. I have had cancer and I'm on chemotherapy. I was on chemo and radiation for the first six weeks I was posting this story but I became really ill afterwards and my bowel perforated, resulting in emergency surgery and a two week hospital stay. I have an ileostomy.

My tumour was big - over four inches long - and the doctor said I'd probably had cancer for three or four years. That explained a few things.

We're hoping that I'm cancer free now but the chemo is in case any stray cells escaped during the perforation. I'll be receiving the treatment until probably January.

Chemo affects cognitive function, along with having other unpleasant side-effects, so I just haven't been able to concentrate enough to get my writing together.

If I manage to achieve sufficient focus I'll post more - I've got plenty written but it needs editing and consolidation.

I hope to be around again soon!

Cheers.


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